


All garbed in crimson and gold

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Series: Alea iacta est [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Eve, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, Joy, and their first married Christmas, reluctantly spent at Casterly Rock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All garbed in crimson and gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PanBoleyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/gifts).



**i.**

_Christmas at Casterly Rock tends to be… lavish._  This is as much as Jon can get out of Joy as she drags him from shop to shop, tailor to barber to  _cobbler,_ a thing Jon didn’t even realise still existed. 

She bullies him into a tuxedo and shiny black shoes, and sits in the chairs along the wall as an ancient, wobble-handed barber trims his hair and shaves him with a straight razor that flashes terrifyingly but smoothly across his throat. 

What does lavish mean? Jon isn’t sure, but he hopes it isn’t as extravagant as the heavy, dark gold silk of the strapless dress Joy bought for the party. He doesn’t think he could handle that much glitz all at once.

 

**ii.**

Jon hasn’t ever met Joy’s extended family before - just her parents, Gerry and Briony, and her cousin Tyrion, the one that’s dating Sansa - so meeting the entire Lannister clan all at once is an experience, to put it mildly. 

They’re all blonde, and tall, with the same striking green eyes as Joy and her dad, but only six or seven of them seem to be smiling, and he can’t decide if it’s because of him or because they’re just naturally grouchy. 

 _Probably a bit of both_  Joy admits when he whispers his suspicions against her ear, _they aren’t going to like you - sorry I didn’t warn you._

And they don’t like him - Jon is a bit controversial simply for existing, and he knows it, so it isn’t surprising that Joy’s family, who are  _very_  high society, in the shiny sort of way that Jon’s family… Aren’t.

Neither of his families, really, because the Starks couldn’t be bothered with flaunting their wealth and no one takes the Targaryens seriously anymore. 

The Lannisters  _loved_  showing off their wealth, and Jon couldn’t think of anyone with half a brain who didn’t take Joy’s uncle Tywin seriously.

 _It’s going to be a long night,_ Joy tells him, all shades of gold except her eyes and the emerald and diamond choker kissing her throat like a switchblade (or a straight razor) _, that’s why I brought you._

**iii.**

Traditionally, Jon has spent Christmas Eve with his father and siblings and stepmother, on Dragonstone.

That his father owns an  _island_  has never gotten any less ridiculous, until now. Joy’s uncle owns a  _mountain,_ into which an ancient old castle the size of a city is carved, dug in deep like a parasite. It’s worse than sprawling, splendid Highgarden, where he visited for Robb’s wedding to sweet, poisonous Margaery, or Winterfell itself, which stands warm and waiting against the cold of the winter-bound North. 

Casterly Rock suits the Lannisters just as well as Highgarden suits the Tyrells or Winterfell the Starks, or even Dragonstone the Targaryens. Too big, too  _much,_ and gilded just right to hide the spots where everything was starting to crumble.

Jon could spot the cracks - the way Joy’s twin cousins lingered strangely under the mistletoe hung in the archways dividing the ballroom proper from antechambers where people retired for a time to chat and sample the entrées, the way not a single person beyond Gerry and Briony seemed to acknowledge Tyrion and Sansa, the way the whole family proper seemed to orient itself unwillingly around Tywin. 

It was too similar to the way Viserys had looked at Rhaenys before Dad noticed and sent him away, the way most of the family except Nan and Dany and Elia ignored Jon’s presence, the way everyone revolved around Dad, even though none of them particularly wanted to have anything to do with him anymore. 

Jon could spot the cracks, no matter how much holly and ivy was strung up to hide them for the festive season. 

**iv.**

Joy was flawless, though, her hair warm tawny in the shifting amber light, her eyes and teeth flashing bright against her face as she laughed and made nice with cousins and uncles and mad, fat Genna, to whom she had eagerly introduced Jon as if  _knowing_ that Genna would spend fifteen minutes making ribald jokes at Jon’s expense. 

Maybe not quite  _flawless,_ but near as made no difference. Beautiful, certainly, that if nothing else. 

**v.**

They’re  _summoned_  before Joy’s eldest uncle around eleven o’clock, just as everyone has gotten merry enough to loosen up and enjoy themselves properly. 

Tywin Lannister’s crimson tie is still knotted up tight, his cuffs still linked and his watch still chained across his belly, and Jon wonders how this monolith can possibly be Gerry’s brother.

 _So you are the Targaryen accident,_ Tywin Lannister says, dismissing Jon already. Jon is used to that, though, and smiles.

 _The Stark bastard, actually,_ he says in a cool tone learned from Uncle Ned, and Joy’s smile blooms like a snowdrop as together, they stand a little straighter against her uncle.  _And your nephew-in-law, sir._

Gerry and Briony had encouraged them to elope, as had Mum, but no one else had approved. Jon supposes that there had been too many echoes of the past in their flight to Braavos for comfort, for some people, and it seems that Tywin is one of them.

**vi.**

_He’s not so bad, once you get used to him._

So says Jaime, one of a pair, younger brother to the eldest and most beautiful of Joy’s cousins, in passing.

Or, so says Joy, in a voice that might curdle milk, her fingers locking like a vice around Jon’s wrist as Cersei and Jaime glide past, elegant and haughty as a pair of swans. Joy loathes them both with a ferocity that always amazes Jon, and which mirrors the burning hatred in her mother’s dark eyes whenever they settle on the twins. 

 _Tywin is a pustule no matter how long you have to get used to him,_ Tyrion says as a correction, dragging an apologetic Sansa to their table and waving down an over-tall waiter who has what are doubtlessly Lannister eyes but doubtlessly does not have a Lannister last name. 

Jon is inclined to agree, but hides it in his drink.

**vii.**

There are fights, which Joy tells him is to be expected.

Pregnancies and love affairs, business deals and mergers, any made without Tywin’s express approval are to be disapproved of, and loudly - the finest of the antechambers becomes a makeshift court room, where the eldest of the Lannisters sits as judge and jury, his terrifying but lovely wife standing behind him with a pale hand on his dark-clothes shoulder.

Jon wonders how families like theirs survive, in this day and age. It seems absurd that one man should hold so much sway over so many. 

**viii.**

Joy drags him onto the dancefloor, as svelte and strong as the lionesses on her earrings, and heaves him around in a passable waltz.

 _Someday,_ she tells him,  _I will bring you to dancing lessons, just to impress my family._

She doesn’t care about them enough to do that, and he tells her so - she laughs, emeralds and teeth flashing like blades, and Jon wonders if this is some new person, because he’s never seen this facet of his wife.

**ix.**

She is a lioness, too. He forgets that sometimes, when they are pretending not to be who they are, in their neat little townhouse in the suburbs of Oldtown, chosen because it’s as neutral of territory as they’re going to find in Westeros.

He wonders if maybe she forgets that he’s a wolf, sometimes, and strong enough to keep up with her family, because he’s a dragon, too, and can handle any sort of madness she wants to throw at him.

**x.**

Tyrion and Sansa have long since left in a storm of rage by the time Jon and Joy find themselves once more on the dancefloor, Joy unspooling softly against Jon’s chest as her family fade from the ballroom one shining shadow at a time. It’s mostly just lingering guests, now, and Gerry and Briony, and a handful of others that Jon thinks he should probably recognise.

 _This year was so boring,_ Joy sighs, tucking her face against his neck. _We should do Christmas with your family next year - I’m sure that they can drum up some excitement._

Jon imagines Joy on Dragonstone for Christmas Eve, and immediately decides to ask Uncle Ned if they can Christmas at Winterfell.


End file.
